Men With Axes
by DrFrankenburger
Summary: Mightily Oats and Mr Cutter have reason to work at a lumber camp lately raided by Elves. Rated T because I can see the potential for violence. Lots of violence.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter the First, in Which Missionary Work and Forgiveness are Discussed.  
**

 _Disclaimer: 'Discworld', its characters and institutions are the intellectual property of the late Sir Terry Pratchett and his heirs. This story is for entertainment only and I claim no commercial interest in it._

 _This story fits into Discworld chronology around the time of_ The Shepherd's Crown. _I'll try to keep spoilers to a minimum._

'Mr Cutter' was a common name among Ramtop Mountains lumberjacks. It was even common as an alias. **(1)** 'Mr Cutter' in this case was not bothered by the baggage carried by the name. He had business near a site where predictive pine timber was being felled for export to Ankh -Morpork.

He had walked up from Hot Dang, talking to other 'Mr Cutters' he had met along the way, sharing a hot meal by his camp fire from time to time, and listening to the news filtering through the lumberjacks' informal grapevine. It carried the information of where the work was, what timber was being extracted, and the wages to be expected. This was trade talk, seldom shared with outsiders and unlikely ever to feature in a newspaper article or clacks message.

Mr Cutter had been at the depot on the Downs just after the March of the Lumberjacks. **(2)** He had seen large, fell handed men with axes in their hands returning from the mountains, grim of countenance and unwilling to say much of what they had seen. **(3)** Not long after that, more men had returned to the scene of the incident to tidy the graves and resume extraction of the timber. Lumberjacking attracted hardy men who were willing to run calculated risks for a profit.

One of them, more religious than the rest, had erected a rough - and – ready shrine to Sweevo, God of Cut Timber. Then something remarkable had happened, an impromptu prayer meeting of the whole camp, even Igor **(4)** during which the protection of Sweevo had been called upon, and a petition that his divine wrath fall upon the unbelievers who had so slain his followers. _With the offer of being the instruments of his will in this._

On hearing of this Mr Cutter had decided that he should seek out the camp concerned to offer his own services and to pay his respects to the fallen at the Shrine of Sweevo.

Currently he was tending a billy of stew over a small campfire and heard someone on the nearby trail call out.

'Hello the camp.' It was a recognised courtesy among travellers. If you announced yourself some distance away, the thinking went, you were unlikely to be a bandit, at least not one with robbery currently in mind. **(5)** He called out for the passer – by to introduce himself. The newcomer's reply came at the same time as the caller came into view. The other traveller wore the severely cut knee length robe of an Omnian priest, hobnailed boots and a broad brimmed hat. He was leading an ass. These features were not what most caught Mr Cutter's attention. It was the double headed Lancrastrian war axe holstered at the priest's back.

'My name in full is inconvenient to say, Mightily Oats is handier. Pastor Oats is preferable when I am working.'

'You are welcome to share the hospitality of my camp Mr Oats, I am Hickory Cutter.'

Mightily Oats thanked him, tethered and unloaded the ass, took some hay and a loaf out of a pannier, put down the hay for the beast and joined Mr Cutter at the fire, uttering a Grace Unto Om and offering his host half the loaf. Mr Cutter did not demur at the prayer even though he was no Omnian. Out here you accepted whatever divine assistance was offered. He dug a spare plate out of his own kit and the two men sat down to a modest supper while they conversed about what had brought them to this part of the mountains.

'Do you ever lay aside your axe Mr Oats ? It can't be comfortable having it at your back even as you sit to eat. I know I keep mine to hand, but there are surely practical considerations.'

'Forgiveness has been my constant companion since I encountered House de Magpyr in Lancre **(6)** and has only ever been set aside to let me sleep.'

For a moment Mr Cutter was nonplussed by the seeming _non sequitur_ but on seeing the priest's hand reach back and stroke the axe he realised the cleric was speaking of the weapon.

'I am making my way to the stand of predictive pines where the Elves attacked, they need more men up there I hear, though missionary work up here to recruit disciples for Om could be difficult, I understand.'

'I seek converts to my faith it is true, but I am no Constable Visit. **(7)** Commendable though his zeal can be, I fear he has missed the point. I also seek wisdom and hope to pass some on in Om's name. Or even for its own sake, a priest, of all people, shouldn't let his faith get in the way of common sense. **(8)** I am here to seek out the camp and offer what assistance I can. Forgiveness has been an industrial tool before and is not solely a handy theological bargaining point.'

'If you can use that axe properly in the company of lumberjacks, you are very welcome to join me Mr Oats, I hear the camp needs labour, though I suspect that up here you may not find it practical to involve your ass in timber extraction.'

'Ned may prove of value yet Mr Cutter. Let us see what develops over the next few days. I offer to take first watch. I don't like the idea of us not posting any guard so near the site of an Elvish incursion.'

Neither man noticed a figure in the darkling wood observing them. He too had business at the lumber camp and so did his men. He slipped back to his followers through the woods and should anyone of sufficient woodcraft been observing him, they would have seen a heavily armoured soldier move through the forest with all the stealth and lack of sound one might expect of a skilled huntsman rather than a warrior.

(1) At some inns 'Mr & Mrs Cutter' could expect similar amused discretion to 'Mr & Mrs Smith.'

(2)See Sir Terry's _The Shepherd's Crown._

(3)Discworld Elves are fierce Faerie barbarians. Now you know why the men didn't want to talk.

(4)When an Igor resorts to prayer, the situation is _serious._

(5)Unless you were a disciple of Ghatian _Thuggeree._ Sorry, couldn't resist.

(6)See Sir Terry's _Carpe Jugulum_ for how Pastor Oats' path to enlightenment got a kick start.

(7)Visit-The-Infidel-With-Explanatory-Pamphlets, keen Omnian lay evangelist in Ankh – Morpork.

(8)Visit might disagree but modern Omnianism is a broad church with enough room for both views.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter the Second, in which we Learn Mr Oats is Familiar with the Bonk School.  
**

 _I realize now there are a number of 'ass' puns in the text. They are not deliberate, honestly. So I've decided to let them stand and for readers to make up their own minds. Mr Oats does._

Ned had enjoyed the food laid down by his master, though as a wise ass who had been with Mr Oats for some years he was also quite capable of finding his own forage without straying far. It hadn't been a rapid journey from the plains. Mr Oats travelled at the speed of his ass, which was slower than the pace of the average man, but the priest was wise enough to put up with this, **(1)** learning, teaching, 'hatching, matching and dispatching' **(2)** as he went – and sometimes confronting evils or dangers with Forgiveness in a very direct way. The books Mightily Oats wrote also helped to finance the search for wisdom that his wandering ministry had become. **(3)**

Ned had noticed the departing soldier, but was aware the man was leaving. He wasn't spooked as a horse or a less experienced ass might have been. A man leaving the camp was no threat from his point of view.

The two men began to settle for the night. Pastor Oats and Mr Cutter agreed that Mr Cutter would sleep until midnight while the cleric took first watch.

With his companion settled and, an hour into the first watch, Hickory Cutter sleeping, Mightily Oats began to quietly pray for guidance, though not directly to Om. **(4)**

'Oh mighty one, **(5)** I seek advice on the path to follow among these men, and though signs are rarely granted to priests of my faith, I humbly request a signpost to the direction I must take.'

In the quiet watches of the night strange things can happen. Even when your camping companion is snoring like a bear in a cave.

Pastor Oats was looking out for dangers of the forest. Hungry bears, hungry bandits, vampires not yet beetotal, feral werewolves, Faerie barbarians in beads and feathers looking better than they had a right to.

The prospect of encountering these things no longer greatly bothered Mightily-Praiseworthy-Are-Ye-Who-Exalteth-Om Oats. He had triumphed over them before, even Gentry as those who still feared the Elves called them. **(6)** He had done his best to keep the faith and minister to the spiritual and ethical needs of those he met by his wayside, and was not ashamed to meet his god should a foe triumph over him in the physical world.

What appeared unto Mightily Oats was not wholly expected but not entirely unanticipated. The area was high in both background magic (from the predictive pines) and induced magic (from the psychic residue of the raid.)

A silvery figure stood before him. Insubstantial yet quivering with a vengeful rage implying imminent solidity should it be called for. A lumberjack from his appearance, and the felling axe he carried.

'They will come back,' he said, 'guide us in slaying the abominable creatures. And they will beware the man with the iron in his hand.'

The figure vanished before the priest could formulate a coherent reply. Mr Oats was not accustomed to religious visions.

And Hickory Cutter was showing signs of waking up. It had to be close to midnight.

The woodcutter sat up, rubbed sleep from his eyes and yawned hugely.

'You look mightily perturbed, Mightily. **(7)** I'd say there's something on your mind that just came to your attention, and it's left you looking like you've seen a ghost.'

'I think I may have done. I prayed for a sign and experienced a supernatural visitation. I'm a priest, I can tell. But I'm not sure if the visitor was a divine manifestation or a discarnate spirit with Unfinished Business.'

Mr Cutter noticed the significant pronunciation of the last two words.

'Perhaps you need to sleep on whatever your visitor told you while I keep watch. It might make more sense in the morning.'

'I know the visitor asked for aid against the raiders when they return. And said something odd about them 'fearing the man with the iron in his hand,' but we all know the raiders can't long stand the presence of iron, so why bother saying it ?'

'It really does sound as if you either need to meditate or sleep on your message. You settle down and work it out, while I keep watch. I have my axe to hand, I can deal with any nocturnal problem.'

Mr Cutter took position over the embers of their campfire. **(8)**

Mightily Oats settled to allow his subconscious mind to work on what he'd learned. Some people might refer to philosophers of the Bonk School as 'the mucky ones,' **(9)** but in reading their works he'd seen past their rather strange obsession with odd sexual practices **(10)** , **(11)** to some valuable insights into how the mind worked. The subconscious mind was capable of generating quite remarkable insights if permitted to do so. Even the philosophers had not been able to work out why, but had been able to lay down some techniques that worked. There were even techniques that allowed a sleeper to direct their own dreams. He'd taken the trouble to master them.

He would dream on it.

(1)Author Robert Louis Stevenson took a different view in _Travels with a Donkey in the Cevennes._

(2)Preaching, namings, weddings and funerals, for those unfamiliar with the idiom.

(3)It is not clear if he deliberately sought to effect the social changes those books were catalysts for.

(4)Who was inclined to spend time partying with other gods instead of listening anyway.

(5)He'd be shocked to learn Evil Harry Dread used a similar prayer. See Sir Terry's _The Last Hero._

(6)Possibly a story for another time. He has seen much and done much since _Carpe Jugulum._

(7)It's a shortened personal name that takes getting used to. It's handier in Omnian. Apparently.

(8)Either he was _very_ capable or there was something he wasn't letting on about. Or both.

(9)See Sir Terry's _Unseen Academicals._

(10)Uberwaldeans from Bonk, eh.

(11)The late Sir Joshua Lavish of Ankh - Morpork had left them standing there. See Sir Terry's _Making Money._


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter the Third, in Which Some Wisdom is Imparted.  
**

 _I apologize for not following my usual practice of publishing at or near the weekend. Things were disrupted by sorting out being in a car crash (no injuries thank goodness, but both cars insurance write offs.) I'll try to get back into the swing of things over the next few weeks. I'm beginning to think Ned may have a pivotal moment in the story at some point._

Three men stood in a moonlit forest glade. They formed a rough triangle, facing each other about two paces (six feet) apart.

To any hypothetical observer it would be evident from their clothing and accoutrements that it was likely each followed a different trade.

The biggest of them might best be considered a lumberjack from his flannel shirt in a plaid pattern, corduroy trousers, **(1)** and sturdy boots. The clue which would clinch this conclusion was the felling axe held in one huge hand.

The only thing disturbing the image of strength and competence he presented was an aura about his body that was hard to define. Looked at one way it was golden in colour, and an ethereal silver if the viewpoint was changed only slightly. It was impossible to decide which was the true colour.

Another man wore the robe and broad hat of an Omnian priest. He, too had opted for heavy boots in this environment. **(2)** Two things departed from the usual Omnian clerical rig. Worn around his neck, instead of the usual Holy Horns or World Turtle amulet was a miniature image of a double headed axe. Holstered at his back was the amulet's real counterpart. A double headed war axe.

He appeared to be the chairman of a debate to judge what the third man was saying.

This man initially appeared to be the smallest of the three, though once again the real state of affairs was difficult to discern. It was hard to tell if he really was that small, or an average to tall man making himself look small. One thing was certain though. Despite having the look of a heavily armoured soldier with his helmet off (and that armour was definitely some of the most sophisticated the others had ever seen) his visage wasn't the sort which appeared in the idealized portraits of military heroes. **(3)**

He, too, holstered at his hip, carried an axe.

Its shape owed a lot to Dwarfish practice. **(4)**

'If I am to follow the lessons you yourself have learned Pastor, then it is incumbent on me and my men to support you in this venture. You believe in standing up for those who cannot do it for themselves. Formidable though the men of the camp might prove against ordinary bandits, you know the raiders would be too much for them without assistance. And we know the Gentry will come back.'

Something the homely figure had said seemed to catch the priest's attention to the point that both his eyebrows raised in surprise, unusual for Mr Oats, who had learned normally to maintain his composure in even the most trying of circumstances, as befitted a reasonable man.

'Your men ? You have involved other people in this ? I hope they know what they are getting into, it would be a disgrace to us both if not.'

'They know exactly what they are facing, and can be quite terrifying themselves if called upon to be so.'

'You have found others of your kind willing to assist. After all that has happened between them and the outside world ?' **(5)**

'They are not Orcs **(6)** Mr Oats, but men of another community with no reason to love the Lords and Ladies. Quite the reverse. They offered to assist me without being asked to, as members of one outcast society to another.'

'If they can resist the glamour, and understand the risk, then their assistance is welcome. Will they join the workforce or hold themselves ready in the woods ?'

'They are shy of most human communities, so they will stay out of sight until the opportune moment.'

'It occurs to me to ask how you came to join this debate. I know I am dreaming this and it's meant to be under my control.'

'I read the works of the Bonk School long before you did Pastor Oats, I realized the Collective Unconscious has literal form in this reality. I think I should yield the floor to our companion, who has been most forbearing.'

'Pastor Nutt is gracious and informative **(7).'** said the big man. **(8)** 'I can impart limited advice. It is in the nature of visions to be cryptic. The man with the iron in his hand is to be respected. The ghosts of the slain seek vengeance on their killers but will not possess the men now in the camp to do it. Discarnate spirits are unaffected by glamour. But keep in mind it is thought the Gentry feel no pain. It is now coming towards dawn and I think Mr Cutter is preparing your breakfast.'

He faded from the ken of the two priests.

'I would greatly like to meet the community your men come from Mr Nutt, perhaps we should discuss it when we meet, though axes be hewing all around us.'

'We will discuss the situation when the task at hand is done. You may be surprised by them Pastor Oats. Dawn is rising, and we need to return to our camps.'

The two men faded from each others' awareness and returned to wakefulness. The next few days carried the prospect of being interesting.

Ned noted that there was another soldier watching over them from cover. Once again he decided to do nothing about the situation. **(9)**

(1)Denim is sturdy, but corduroy has better thermal properties when wet. Ask any outdoorsman.

(2)Preferable to getting sandalled feet caught in brambles. Uncomfortable isn't the half of it.

(3)Mr Nutt is no matinee idol. He is a homely and practical man.

(4)Pickaxe on one side for digging or mining, war axe on the other in case anyone objects.

(5)The way they were used had left Mr Nutt's people with a bad reputation on the Disc.

(6)Discworld Orcs: genetically manipulated shock troops, like Halo SPARTANS minus cybernetics.

(7)The bishop who ordained Nutt had needed showing missionary work could get _physical..._

(8)He knows about Nutt because he is from the Other Side. Supernaturals easily spot clergy.

(9)Had it been Nutt he couldn't have helped himself. The presence of Orcs freaks animals out.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter the Fourth, in Which** **Diet and Prohibitions are Discussed. **

_Mr Oats and Mr Cutter briefly discuss dietary rules and we learn a bit more about the hazards of harvesting magical timber, along with some of the precautions which have to be taken. There is also the side issue of diet in men occupied in physically demanding work._

A priest and a woodsman were cooking breakfast at a small encampment in a forest. Nearby, an ass was foraging for vegetation to his own taste, and doing rather well. Ned was well practised at this kind of thing.

Mr Cutter had a question for Pastor Oats.

'Are there any rules about food you need to follow ? I know Cenotines **(1)** have a complicated list of things to avoid and Offlerians even prohibit broccoli **(2)** for some reason.' **(3)**

'At one time there would have been, but the reforms of the Prophet Brutha amended those observances to the point where they are no longer compulsory. Priests and laity in Omnianism are welcome to follow them if they genuinely believe doing so will help their spiritual development. Most don't. **(4)** I have found it pays to be pragmatic about the bounty the Gods provide.'

'Given the bulk of our breakfast will be porridge, I suspect even the most fastidious god would not object to that.' **(5)**

'I can think of at least one, though his current responsibilities do not lie in the forests, but usually in more developed parts of the world.' **(6)**

'Well we'd better tuck in to keep our strength up enough for the foreman to want to hire us. We are quite close to the camp now.'

Not far from this discourse, a lumber camp had just finished the morning's personal ablutions and their breakfasts and were turning their attention back to the serious and potentially hazardous business of harvesting magical timber. Not only was it sensible to camp (with all those iron and steel tools) a short walk away from the relevant trees, but the foreman, a specialist in such jobs, was one of the relatively few non – wizards (and wizards for that matter) to own and know how to use a thaumometer away from the laboratory. **(7)** It was a really good idea to assess background magic if you wanted the crew to complete their working day in the same shape as when they started. And the same species.

One of the men was not a happy camper. The Lumberjacks' Guild had hired him as the camp's only laundryman. The pay was good, but he had issues with the camp's Klatchian cook. Particularly with his signature dish of strong curry among men unused to spicy food and far too macho not to eat it. **(7a)** He took the view that chaps **(9)** who were comrades **(10)** should take the trouble not to add unnecessarily to each others' workloads.

That said, they still got on affably, swapping tales of their respective adventures in lands far for from this forest, both men of the world who discovered they had a great deal in common despite their homelands lying so far apart.

Mr Washer **(11)** determined to bring the problem to his culinary colleague's attention. As they were discussing the wisdom of strong curry as a staple food _vis a vis_ the additional laundry work that might be generated, their attention was drawn to two new arrivals at the camp, as was that of Mr Sharp, the foreman. One was obviously a lumberjack, but the other appeared to be a priest of some sort. A priest who was toting a war axe. There was some mild interest on the part of those who still had business away from the actual trees, but no pushy curiosity. News like Pastor Oats travels widely. **(12)**

'Well, lads,' said Mr Sharp, 'we've work to be done around here, so we need woodcutters and flume riders to do it. We're building up the stock again, and there are ready lads helping out and preparing to ride the flumes. We haven't harvested the amount of timber the wizards ordered yet, and I figure we're at least a month behind, but we have to follow the 'partial fell' policy the University bods laid down. **(12a)** I can take you both on at Guild rates subject to review at the end of this month. Mr Oats, I'll need you to politely talk religion with our chaplain this evening. I don't want 'theological debate' **(14)** getting in the way of business.'

He then directed them to where they could put down their bedrolls and picket Ned satisfactorily, the ass finding his assigned quarters quite congenial compared to some of the places where his master had camped, before leading them to the 'workface' of the project, informing them of the duties expected of them, and assigning them to a work detail.

As with Mr Oats and Mr Cutter, he never saw one of Mr Nutt's men discreetly shadowing them.

(1)Being widely travelled, he knows there are still Cenotines in the world.

(2)Roundworld religions don't, but some followers avoid it for fear of eating insects in the florets.

(3)Canon implies Offler proscribed broccoli as it was an easy ban to adhere to.

(4)Some folk uncharitably suggest this is due to making priests more likely to be invited to dinner.

(5)Hmm, have I mentioned Nuggan yet ? Short god. Fussy moustache. Mental issues...

(6)After the Borogravian War, Nuggan hung on as God of Seeking Better Mental Health.

(7)'If a wizard can't feel a magical field, I'm amazed he's still alive !' - Archchancellor Ridcully.

(7a)The Roundworld song 'Ring of Fire' comes to mind.

(9)Use of the word 'chaps' can say a lot about a man's background...

(10)So can 'comrades...'

(11)This _has_ to be another alias, surely.

(12)Wait until the news of Pastor Nutt breaks out into the world...

(12a)It would be unwise to clear fell magical timber. Magic can get stroppy.

(14)I think you can guess what he means. Sharp tools present. Used for cutting timber.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter the Fifth, in Which a 'Dark Wizard' Initiates a Sacrifice.  
**

 _Mr Oats is settling in to the routine among his new colleagues. He learns a bit about the processing of magical timber, and I've learned I can do a chapter in one sitting if I'm not Mr Lazy about it._

It had been a busy day. Mightily Oats, Mr Cutter and a substantial body of other men had industriously felled the designated trees for that day and made a healthy beginning on the snedding process. This is the practice of trimming twigs and branches away from the main tree trunk to ease handling it back to what passed for civilization.

Some camps might discard the sneddings, and there were parts of the world where this had, together with dry conditions, contributed to devastating wildfires. **(1)** Mr Sharp had explained that the sneddings would themselves be trimmed and packed for transport back to the Depot. Not only did he not wish to leave a fire hazard at the site, even small quantities of magical timber were valuable. Not to mention that this stipulation had been repeated by the liaison officer who had been wished on them by Unseen University after the camp's extradimensional (the Gentry, don't say 'Elves,') disaster.

Everyone had freshened up and been ready for the supper provided courtesy of cook Altair ibn Rashid. **(2)** Mr Rashid had grown up near one of his generally rather hot and sandy country's larger rivers. Unsurprisingly he was a practising Offlerian, and this evening had decided to specially propitiate his god. Supper had been sausages and beans **(3)** which had been rather tasty, though everyone was tactful enough not to mention it. The blessings of Offler were to be sought at this location, so it was best to maintain the polite fiction that the 'essence of sausagidity had risen unto Offler, with only the god's leavings available for the mortals.' The lumberjacks here followed a rough and ready ecumenism, Oats noticed, which explained their readiness to propitiate Offler and accept Mightily Oats into their number as well.

Musing on this, he made his way to the meeting Mr Sharp had required. He'd met Reverend Snorrisson at supper, though they had only talked generalities about where they were, reserving theological matters for their own meeting, which was also to include the wizard from the university.

That was going to be interesting.

The liaison officer was Dr Hix. **(4)**

The Sweevonian priest and the wizard were working over what looked like modest still, assisted by Mr Cutter. Reverend Snorrison superficially resembled Mr Cutter in the fading light, though the priest was wearing bib overalls instead of ordinary trousers, with a black undershirt beneath his work shirt and a clerical collar completing the ensemble. Dr Hix had followed the usual wizardly practice of retaining his robes, hood (and don't forget the skull ring,) and wizard's hat. **(5)**

'I know you were going to ask about me being a Sweevonian from Nothingfjord,' said Reverend Snorrisson, 'perhaps it's best to explain it in these terms. Timber for longships has to come from somewhere, though many Nothingfjordian priests are disciples of Noddi the Bestower of Fertility.' ( **6)**

'We need to concentrate on the apparatus, the votive liquor is nearly ready.' This was from Dr Hix, who appeared to be doing most of the work. Pastor Oats tactfully commented on this.

'My turn Reverend, everybody shares any duties they're suited to around here, makes life easier. And working with strange ingredients over a fire appeals to a man of my inclinations.' **(7)**

Mr Cutter spoke.

'Once the liquor is prepared, it is offered unto Sweevo by placing it in a dish and making a burned offering of it. No man may drink of the votive liquor.'

'I assume that this is due to reserving the sacrifice to Sweevo.'

'There is that, but you'd poison yourself if you drank it, the stuff is mainly wood alcohol.' **(8)**

'Thank you for your interjection Dr Hix, wood alcohol is acceptable unto Sweevo and does him no harm because he is a timber god whose essence is intertwined with the forest and its trees. And it burns well as an offering under most circumstances if you know what you are doing.'

Dr Hix then indicated that the offering was ready. Reverend Snorrisson respectfully accepted the glass bottle into which the distillate had been dripping and began intoning the prayers which consecrated the sacrifice. He then poured it into a copper dish that he evidently retained for the purpose and ignited it with a small brand from the fire beneath the still. The priests, the wizard and the lumberjack waited respectfully in quiet prayer or meditation as the dim blue flame burned out.

As the service ended, Mightily Oats took the opportunity to thank his colleagues for including him in their improvised ministry and asked Mr Cutter if he was studying for the priesthood himself. The woodsman paused for a moment, seemingly collecting his thoughts and assembling his answer carefully.

'Ordination as a path would not really suit me, though I take my religion seriously and help out where I am required. Right now we've had a long day. I really think we should concentrate on helping Mr Snorrisson tidy up then ensure we are fresh for tomorrow.'

This was something the entire group could agree with. Mr Snorrisson and Dr Hix offered to initiate him into the mysteries of the votive still the following day. All of them then retired to their allotted sleeping spaces, whilst those of the camp who had been assigned the first watch of sentry duty kept guard.

Even these keenly watching sentinels, who Mr Sharp had deliberately kept on light duties during the day, failed to notice that they were on this night being discreetly guarded in their turn by Pastor Nutt, who felt that he should watch over his former mentor's safety in person for a while. He kept his distance from Ned for fear of causing a disturbance. **(9)**

(1)The Great Hinckley Fire of 1894 in Roundworld's USA is believed to be an example of this.

(2)Trying out Arabic for Klatchian, and yes, I did play 'Assassins' Creed.'

(3)No broccoli, though any brassica would have been a bad idea under the circumstances.

(4)An Official Dark Wizard ('not a necromancer at all') can expect some notoriety.

(5)Don't ask how he manages the hat and hood together, he's a 'Licenced Bad Person.'

(6)Knowing how he did that would make a man wince. I won't repeat it here.

(7)It's _amazing_ what amateur thespians like him have to brew up for the sake of SFX.

(8)Wood alcohol really is poisonous. Don't try this at home.

(9)And that would have led to some _serious_ explanations being needed.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter the Sixth, in Which the Miracle of Resurrection and Rude Songs are Mentioned**

 _I thought a 'Scouts' style sing – along would go down well. And it's difficult to keep Dr Hix from putting on a show from time to time._

' _I know a bear that you don't know, Bjarni ! Bjarni !'_ Mightily Oats was enjoying himself, and feeling guilty because the contents of the song were so... _inappropriate._ The song appeared to be about an anthropomorphic bear (maybe even a were - bear) and each verse humorously ascribed a different unsavoury habit or taste to the eponymous Bjarni and/or one of his associates. **(1)** Perhaps it was obvious that Dr Hix would have suggested the number, but the wizard knew his current audience would like it. He'd been assigned to the camp by the University for more than one reason.

He was a powerful wizard who could function in a potentially dangerous environment. **(2)**

As an amateur Thespian he could be called upon as an improvised 'morale officer.' **(3)**

Given his field of study, he could keep the deceased 'on side.' **(4)**

It had been another day of cutting wood for Mr Oats, though this time under the tutelage of Hickory Cutter, who had been told by Mr Sharp to introduce the priest to the concepts of coppicing and pollarding.

Neither Mr Cutter nor Mr Oats had chosen to comment on Mr Snorrisson leaving the foreman's tent before he issued their assignment for the day.

Predictive Pines, it seemed, shared a remarkable habit with certain deciduous tree species. If you cut them back the right way then the root plate did not die but was 'fooled' into 'thinking' it was young again, and this fostered the growth of multiple new stems on the original root system. **(5)(6)**

'It is also considered a living metaphor for both the cycle of life and the miracle of resurrection,' Mr Cutter had said.

'I was not aware that Sweevonians believed in resurrection as part of their faith.'

'It is rather inevitable given that we cut back forests which then re – grow. And then we are presented with the phenomenon you and I are working with. The head, as it were, cut back to invigorate the body many times over.'

That evening at prayers after supper Pastor Oats had been introduced to the mysteries of Mr Snorrisson's votive still. It seemed the little machine could be more dangerous than it looked, because the final liquor contained more than just wood alcohol. A number of other ingredients were included in the basic mixture, which had to do with ensuring a consistent quality of burnt offering. They were quite volatile, combustible even, and could cause problems if you made a mistake. Explosively so.

Eventually the religious duties of the evening were completed, and it was surprising that so many of the camp attended the solemn, simple service. Oats had commented on this, and Reverend Snorrisson had brought him up to speed on why attendance had been sparse the previous day.

'Your being Omnian made them wary of you. **(7)** The lads thought it best that any religious differences be sorted out by quiet discussion among professionals, and those who took a deeper interest, like Mr Cutter. Things went a similar way when Dr Hix turned up. His studies **(7a)** are anathema to the followers of most faiths, though the resurrection aspect of Sweevonianism leads us to be little more...ecumenical...on the issue.'

It was at around this point, with most of the camp present, that Dr Hix had suggested a sing – song as a morale booster. Nobody wanted to offend any of the Gods **(9)** so they departed the makeshift chapel clearing and relocated to the canteen area, where everyone who wanted would then sing a song or tell a story for the entertainment of his colleagues.

' _Bjarni the Bear,'_ it has to be said, was a long way from being the ripest material presented. These were men in the company of other men, and there were no women present to be offended. On the subject of gender – bending Mr Washer told everyone a war story about transvestite 'washerwomen' and guards so inattentive they completely failed to notice the cavalry whiskers on one of the group.

The evening wore on, with songs, stories both amusing and of hair – raising derring - do. There was even a rather strange Hogswatch tale about Moist Von Lipwig, the Golden Postman. **(10)** Mightily Oats noted that tales of the Postmaster General's adventures were becoming remarkably widespread and popular when you considered that a Civil Service job was thought to be rather boring. **(11)** He made a mental note to look into the phenomenon at a later date. Discreetly. There could be something other than Vetinari guiding the man's career, and a priest knew to treat such situations carefully.

The impromptu concert began to wind down, with another song describing just how lucky the hedgehog was. Very lucky considering the nature of the song.

Finally, Mr Sharp made a brief speech about the need to keep up morale, but not relax their vigilance, and thanked Dr Hix for his efforts as an amateur impresario.

Dr Hix thanked Mr Sharp in his turn and reinforced Mr Cutter's warning about vigilance. Not long after, everybody drifted off to bed, apart from that shift's appointed guards.

Mr Nutt's man, guarding the camp in cover, mused to himself that lumberjacks had strange tastes in songs. **(12)**

(1)Sorry Scouts, I know you sing something similar at campfires. But not in front of outsiders.

(2)To be fair, so are all the UU Faculty.

(3)And the Faculty welcomed a rest from 'Dolly Sisters Players' flyers slipped into their pockets.

(4)Did I say...'not a necromancer at all'...?

(5)A real phenomenon. Some managed woodlands in Roundworld's UK are believed to be thousands of years old.

(6)Each stem ideal for a wizardly staff, if harvesting was timed properly.

(7)Imagine evangelizing with fire and sword. Omnianism used to be like this, and still has its hotheads.

(7a)Just don't say 'necromancy.' OK ?

(9)Who didn't need righteous zealots to smite blasphemers on their behalf.

(10)Plug for my story _'The Strange Delivery of Mr Von Lipwig.'_

(11)Unless you were one of Lord Vetinari's Dark Clerks.

(12)No, not that 'Lumberjack Song.'


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter the Seventh, in Which a Wizard gets Edgy and Mr Oats Discusses his Ass.  
**

 _This chapter took a little longer to complete than I would have liked as I found myself up to my elbows in gunk, fettling the washing machine back into working order. You would be_ amazed _at the kind of junk that gathers in a washing machine filter._

Ned, like his master, had been making himself useful. There was always something to be carried somewhere, or logs to be dragged to the stacks awaiting flume riders to guide them down - river. There were also sneddings and harvested poles from the coppicing and pollarding operation to be gathered, piled and packed for export via the mule trains that supplied the camp. There was no point floating the smaller cuts of wood as damage to its quality would be hard to avoid that way. There was plenty of work to keep the camp's asses, mules and horses busy and far from bored, as they were greatly outnumbered by equally busy lumberjacks. Nonetheless the wise old ass had begun to feel a growing unease whose nature he couldn't quite put his finger on. **(1)**

Ned wasn't alone in his unease. As the moon swelled, night by night, **(2)** Dr Hix was also growing uneasy, but was better able to articulate why. And he had logged thaumometer readings to back that up. A wizard can tell when a magical event is building up, and a Licenced Dark Wizard **(3)** can also readily tell if things are likely to turn nasty. He'd also been communicating with the ghosts of the men murdered by the Gentry **(4)** and the discarnate spirits agreed that trouble was on its way. They had also taken to hinting that they might take a hand in dealing with it, though even Dr Hix was at a loss as to how they might do so.

Mr Sharp was also feeling concerned, though his worry came from his daily thaumometer readings. He couldn't feel the magical tension building up the way the others could. **(5)** He was aware that there was trouble brewing, and decided to call a meeting of what might be termed the camp's experts on the supernatural.

The priests and the wizard gathered in the large tent that served Mr Sharp as an office. On a portable map table he had laid out a chart of his own thaumometer readings. Background magic was clearly on the increase in a way that couldn't be explained by the life cycle of the predictive pines.

Mr Sharp invited Dr Hix to contribute his own findings and the wizard placed a chart of his own readings next to that of Mr Sharp. The charts agreed closely.

'It is clear something is coming, and it's not just instrument readings telling me that. I'd be feeling more than just - stress related edginess by now if it were not for low - dose dried frog pills.' **(6)**

Mr Sharp was well aware of what an edgy wizard might be capable of, and carefully steered the conversation away from the mental state of Dr Hix.

'It's not just you being affected. The animals are starting to get edgy, though I've noticed your ass is less restive than the other equines Mr Oats.'

'Ned has seen this kind of thing before and come through it whole. He is a level headed beast and perhaps he should spend some time with the horses as an example to follow.' **(7)**

'Agreed Mr Oats. And Mr Snorrisson, I'd like your input on what is happening too. As much detail as we can muster is our best advantage here, though I have to say it's unlikely to be a lot. Survivors' reports from last time there was an – incursion – are rather garbled.'

'From what the trees and woods tell me **(7a)** there is definitely an incursion on the way. And the raiders tend to be unimaginative in the form their attacks take. They are quite likely to attack from the same positions as last time, we should certainly keep watch on those spots.' **(9)**

'Agreed. I have heard that swarf can be an effective incapacitant against the raiders Is there anything in the idea of placing it at these positions ?'

Dr Hix chose to interject at this point.

'Mr Sharp, I assume you are simply thinking out loud. The use and storage of tools with iron content at this camp has to be carefully monitored, so I am of the opinion that putting iron fragments in any concentration close to predictive pines is not a good idea. We want to prevent or curb magical mayhem here, not instigate it ourselves.'

'Point taken Dr Hix. Has anyone else any suggestions concerning these likely vulnerable points ?'

Mightily Oats raised a hand.

'I have faced this kind of threat before. I believe Forgiveness being iron and kept so close to my nervous system may be what helped me to see what was really there. Perhaps the men guarding these points should carry a shouldered axe at all times. It might be a good idea to check on this with Igor when we have finished here.'

'Agreed. And I think we have all noticed the link between the rising thaumometer readings and the approaching full moon. Once again the raiders' lack of strategic originality works in our favour. We need to be constantly vigilant but _definitely_ ready for trouble on the night of the full moon. I will check with Igor and see to the vulnerable sites being patrolled, and that we are ready to treat casualties when the situation arises.'

The meeting was dissolved, with Oats going to see the camp's wrangler to put in hand his suggestion about Ned. Reverend Snorrisson returned to the chapel clearing to commune with nature again. Mr Sharp went to see Igor and then to put in place the plans made for defending his camp.

Dr Hix returned to his tent. He pulled the flap closed to provide the darkness he needed for crystal gazing. And was rather put out to see in it that the ghosts had given his improvised show only 'mixed to average' reviews.

Concealed from the camp, one of Mr Nutt's men relieved their group's duty guard, who then took the news of what might happen on the night of the full moon straight to Mr Nutt.

(1)In a manner of speaking.

(2)See Sir Terry's _'The Shepherd's Crown.'_

(3)'Post - Mortem Communicator.'

(4)If you say 'Elves' they turn up to make trouble.

(5)Animals and wizards are more sensitive to magical fields than most people.

(6)Wizards get stro -, bellig -, er, _argumentative_ in the presence of strong magical fields.

(7)A real practice. Donkeys are sometimes kept with horses for this reason.

(7a)A Sweevonian priest can certainly commune with woodland sprites. (Don't mention dryads.)

(9)He might not be aware these are the where the barriers between worlds are thinnest.


	8. Chapter 7a

**Chapter 7a, in Which Klatchian Coffee and Human Sacrifice are Discussed.** **  
**

 _Sorry this chapter took so long. Finding time to write is a bit challenging at the moment, even though I enjoy the writing process. Mr Rashid appeared to be part of a throwaway gag about strong curry at first, but his key position in events emerges here._

 _See if you can guess who Mr Nutt's disciples are..._

Four of the camp's complement were taking a coffee break. When you were working out in the sticks **(1)** you accepted what little luxuries might come your way. In this case it was Klatchian coffee, courtesy of the cook, Mr Rashid.

The group with him were 'Soapy' Washer the laundryman, Reverend Snorrison and Dr Hix. Klatchian coffee can induce a state of mind called 'knurd.' Although they were indulging in the drink in small quantities **(2)** for the sake of its robust taste all of them were aware of what it could do to you if you over – imbibed.

This had led to Reverend Snorrisson's subconscious mind clamouring for attention from his consciousness.

'It occurs to me that this beverage might be put to use against those who would trouble us.' **(3)**

'We've been briefed to expect trouble, and when it's likely to come, but it never occurred to me that my humble coffee might be of use in the struggle _offendi._ We need to discuss this matter further.'

Mr Washer was the next to speak.

'I think we need to raise this with Mr Sharp in short order gentlemen.'

The others agreed, but a few minutes would elapse first. Why rush a good coffee break ?

Whetstone Sharp was a little surprised at the diverse group of his camp's 'ancillary tradesmen' **(4)** turning up at his office excitedly talking about a new defensive technique that seemed to involve some kind of strong drink.

'We know this place is teetotal for safety reasons, and none of us is Brother Perdore **(5)** so what's all this about ?'

His tone was as sharp as he dared make it with Dr Hix about lest premature magical mayhem ensue. The wizard had seemed a bit tetchier than usual lately for reasons he hadn't been willing to disclose. Mr Sharp hoped the supply of dried frog pills was going to last the course of this adventure.

To his surprise, Dr Hix seemed to have cheered up.

'We have an idea, courtesy of Reverend Snorrisson and Mr Rashid, that would provide us with an additional advantage should we have...visitors.' **(6)**

The properties of Klatchian coffee were then discussed with respect to inducing the state of mind referred to in Morporkian as _knurd._ It is the opposite of the comfortable obliviousness to privation that can accompany being drunk. It is seeing things exactly as they are, and, in the right dose, the drink was capable of making a man see right through any illusion cast by a magic - user. **(7)**

'There is only one problem _offendi,_ my supply of Klatchian coffee is limited, and would not suffice to render a significant number of men sufficiently knurd to be effective.'

Dr Hix provided an answer.

'Hahnemann's Homeopathic Enhancer would be our friend here. I would not need much of the beverage to work on. A single mug would be enough to work the spell on, then it just needs to be distributed drop by drop in mugs of plain water. There could be some minor magical side effects, but I think I could reduce or eliminate them if I include a suitable sacrificial victim...'

He became aware that he was the subject of hard stares from the others.

'All right, no human sacrifice, but it's in my job description to make remarks like that. Skull ring, remember ?'

Mr Sharp decided to take full charge of the discussion again, lest Dr Hix offend somebody to the point where something everyone would later regret could take place.

'Thank you Dr Hix, I believe that we should avail ourselves of this opportunity. Dr Hix, Mr Rashid, I suggest that you make arrangements to work together on this. Supplying the drink to the men at the end of supper on the evening of the full moon would make sense. We'll just have to live with any magical difficulties that arise.'

The group returned to their duties, pleased that they appeared to have placed another obstacle in the path of those who would make difficulties for them.

Mr Sharp had also been satisfied from consulting Igor that a shouldered axe would provide some protection from Glamour. His sentries really did have a tactical advantage then.

Not everybody who was privy to the 'coffee conference' was reassured by it. As ever, one of Mr Nutt's men had been unobtrusively watching over developments. He reported the decision to his leader on returning, reinforcing in that report how the men of the camp would be able to see things exactly as they were.

Pastor Nutt received the news with grave disquiet. His men were from an outcast community. They would prefer their exact ethnicity to remain obscure for as long as possible. He could be seen to visibly put effort into considering what this meant. Finally he spoke.

'I think this will work in our favour. I know that they will be immune to illusions, but we don't use them. It will be clear to the lumberjacks that we are their allies, and this will help how the community is perceived. They may have some ingrained reactions, so be careful, if you can, about them getting a clear look at you. You've done well so far, but things are different in the middle of a melee. And try to avoid getting your helmets knocked off. That's not just to avoid head injuries. I'm a known man in the world, but seeing any of _you_ without a helmet on would be most unhelpful.'

(1) This would have been 'stalks' on the brassica – dominated Sto Plains.

(2) By lumberjack standards – (wizards imbibe _almost anything_ for kicks,) and _big men,_ remember.

(3)I already said not to mention 'Elves,' didn't I ?

(4)He wouldn't have _dared_ use that term to Dr Hix' face. An edgy wizard is not to be goaded.

(5)A rather boozy Nine Day Ponderers wandering missionary. See Sir Terry's _Carpe Jugulum._

(6)He was relishing the coming opportunity to throw fireballs around...and be thanked for it.

(7)The glamour cast by the Gentry to befuddle outsiders fits the bill about 'illusion' here.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter the Ninth, in Which a Laundryman's Secret is Hinted at.  
**

 _What is Soapy Washer up to ? Will Altair take his sword to be blessed ? Exactly what is Dr Hix not telling everyone about his homoeopathic coffee treatment ? Mr Cutter seems to have secrets of his own. Will Ned encounter Pastor Nutt ?_

 _Keep on reading as new chapters are published to find out what is going on._

It was almost the evening of the full moon. Men had continued production as ever during the day, but less timber had been harvested than usual. Normally a lumberjack would put his full concentration and effort into the day's work. There was such a thing as professional pride after all. **(1)** On this day, something was being held back in anticipation of the possibility of needing to be less tired in the evening.

Soapy Washer had made sure he was ahead of his work by the time the day had even dawned. He had his own reasons to be worried that trouble would come, and wasn't looking forward to the inevitable revelation of why he was laundryman at this camp. So far nobody had realised his real business, which was far more difficult and dangerous. **(2)** He checked his _special_ equipment and was gratified that there was so much iron in it. He had long since rectified a tendency to clumsiness with tools. Practising Extreme Ironing **(3)** had drummed it out of him and drummed in a remarkable dexterity instead.

Altair ibn Rashid had made sure breakfast was hearty. Most men stuck to two meals a day here, wanting to ensure they did as much work as possible during their shift. He put on a modest noontide meal for those who wanted it, but made sure it was filling. The men with axes were being thrifty with their strength today, and he intended to ensure that strength was kept up. Before he prepared a simple but fortifying supper of corned beef hash, he checked his own kit for the scimitar and spike – topped helmet that usually accompanied him on his travels. **(4)** He might not be a warrior, but there were dangers in the world. A prudent man took precautions. During quieter times during the day he used a kitchen whetstone to further hone the sword's already razor – sharp edge. If unwelcome visitors should turn up he would have a greeting with which to welcome them, ready at hand.

Mightily Oats spent his day at the work face with the other woodsmen. For one so widely travelled and experienced as he, it was not hard to tell that a blend of grim determination leavened with anxiety had taken hold of his colleagues. He concentrated on his work, Forgiveness rising and striking as required. He did not draw others into unnecessary conversation, but took his cue from the others and laboured diligently whilst conserving his strength. He quietly prayed to Om that He would at least show favour to Pastor Nutt and his followers. The younger priest's original people might have been Igor – made for such situations **(5)** but Nutt had so far only ever applied his tactical abilities on a foot - the - ball field. **(6)**

Dr Hix had spent much of the day in his tent, alternating between researching the nature of the Gentry, **(7)** communing with the local discarnate spirits and preparing the coffee spell. The ghosts had not been complimentary about his abilities as an impresario, a deflating experience for the kind of wizard whose specialist discipline relies heavily on theatricality. Generally speaking, the spirits will only bother to turn up if the post – mortem – communicator (not 'necromancer') has put on a good enough show to impress them. They were willing to be co operative (though critical) at this juncture, through their thirst to be avenged upon their tormentors and murderers. He had once again tried to find out how they planned to do this. Either they were refusing to be drawn on the subject or there was something he didn't understand about their 'Sweevo will provide' answer to his reminder to them of the taboo against the discarnate slaying the living **(7a)**. He hoped his preparations would be adequate and checked to ensure that his staff was charged with sufficient magic to provide him with plenty of fireballs should they be needed. He wondered if he should tell them about the amplifying effects of the homoeopathic spell if treated liquid encountered other fluids, until the spell wore off.

No point really, it would work in the camp's favour anyway. And Dr Hix loved a surprise.

Hickory Cutter had also worked diligently and carefully through the day. He was well aware of what was coming. It was the reason he was there, and it wasn't going to be pleasant. Meanwhile he performed the work expected of a lumberjack, and was on the rota for preparing the burnt offering that evening. Reverend Snorrisson had asked everyone to bring tools (mainly axes) to be blessed at evening prayers after supper. Some religions might ask for at least a modest period of abstinence before a religious service but not Sweevonianism. Sweevo, God of Cut Timber, knew that His disciples needed to keep their strength up.

Ned was more jittery than usual. He wasn't alone. The other equines could also feel that something bad was coming. They had taken longer than Ned to become unsettled as they had far less experience of the world than Pastor Oats' ass.

Pastor Nutt and his men had begun, axes in hand, to cautiously take up positions discreetly backing up the camp's own guards. **(9)** It wouldn't do to give themselves away too quickly. That could only cause confusion.

(1)Not to mention sheer machismo.

(2)Yes, he was working under an assumed name. But to be fair, he could iron like a demon.

(3)An extreme sport even on Roundworld. Deliberately ironing clothes in extreme environments.

(4)There's no hidden agenda here. And those items seemed _so_ Klatchian...

(5)Orc, remember.

(6)See Sir Terry's _Unseen Academicals._ Getting wizards to work together had been an _achievement._

(7)He could see the potential for a second doctorate here, as well as immediately useful material...

(7a)Mentioned in Sir Terry's _Wyrd Sisters_ as why Verence I should not kill Felmet.

(9)Nutt's presence wasn't helping the animals' disquiet, but it was a tactical risk he needed to take.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter the Tenth, in Which Things Come To a Head. Messily.  
**

 _This chapter needed som_ e _careful thinking about. Transcribing Offler's lisp is always something of a challenge. Blind Io can be quite mercurial, but a chance to zap unbelievers always cheers up the Gods. Multiple plot strands are working together with some characters following private agendas and, as ever, things are not always as they seem._

It had been a hot and sticky day leading up to the evening of the full moon.

It was towards the end of the evening meal and Dr Hix was moving around the tables dispensing water treated with drops of the Klatchian coffee he had homeopathically enhanced, his black – robed figure causing a slight unease as he approached, (the presence of a licensed Dark Wizard will do this to even the boldest) though that unease then vanished as, one by one, the men drank the doctored beverage and became slightly knurd.

The state of mind engendered was usually a gloomy one. The world can be a harsh place. For any outsider viewing what was going on, the grim smiles spreading around the refectory area might have been surprising. There was no surprise at this among the lumberjacks. They were looking forward to what was likely to be a rematch against the feral Elves who had troubled them previously. This time the intruders' one huge tactical advantage wasn't going to work. They had angered the lumberjacks. **(1)** They were going to pay.

Once this had been completed, everyone departed for the chapel clearing, ensuring they were each carrying a suitable tool for use as a weapon, so that it might be blessed at evening prayers. Mr Rashid's sword and helmet attracted some attention. There was some surprise (even given the coffee – induced clarity of mind) at Mr Washer bringing a heavy pressing iron and a cavalry sabre. Pastor Oats and his mighty axe, Forgiveness, were expected and welcome. He had impressed the other men with his diligence and hardiness, now they were curious as to how he would handle himself should trouble call on them.

Hickory Cutter had brought his own felling axe, which he made a point of keeping at hand. He glanced at it from time to time as he worked at the votive still.

Reverend Snorrisson led the service, though he had already asked Mr Oats to be his co – celebrant, to which the Omnian had agreed. **(2)**

Pastor Nutt, from his position near one of the camp's guards, heard the murmuring sounds of men at prayer and hoped he wouldn't be noticed as each guard was dosed by a still – circulating Dr Hix. He could see the increase in alertness take effect as men drank, covered as they imbibed by the busy wizard lest they be taken by surprise. There seemed to be something strange about the shadows gathered around the post – mortem – communicator. It was possible the Dark Wizard was up to something, though it was unlikely to cause problems for his comrades. Nutt made a mental note of this but decided to let it pass for the moment.

The priests had agreed with Mr Sharp that the foreman should lead a special prayer directed to the Pantheon as a whole on Dunmanifestin. This was a camp that could do with all the Divine assistance that could be mustered.

Blind Io, King of the Gods, was first in the Divine City to notice what was going on. **(3)** He digested the meaning of what was going on and demanded the presence of Sweevo, Om and Offler. **(4)** The subordinate Gods then heeded their leader's summons.

Offler, oldest of the Gods (and far too canny to ever try for the Kingship) was the first of the group to realize the situation and sought both to mollify his irritated leader, and rally his comrades in defence of their disciples.

'Lord Io, there are _believerth_ out there who are petithioning uth _all_ for athithtance againtht an enemy that would dare even to try _uth_ and don't even care about our importanth to Humanity. **(5)** Thith ith an opportunity to increath general belief in the Godth and have thome _fun._ A good mountainthunderthtorm ith all the cover we need , oh king, and then it'th jutht a matter of who can thoot thtraight at ecthtradimenthional intruderth. If anybody miththeth, people are likely to aththume that the godlethth withard got fireball – happy.' **(6)**

Blind Io was surprisingly accommodating about Offler's plan but the chance to do thunder for everyone else's lightning in addition to his own thunder and lightning was too good to resist. Sweevo was happy to agree. Most of the threatened believers were his after all. Offler was happy to have arranged something that would increase Human adulation for his kind. Om was looking forward to the shooting party. **(7)**

As it happened, just as Dr Hix dosed the last of the guards on his rota, the Elves jumped the siege catapult.

Faerie barbarians began appearing right where an edgy wizard who was already spoiling for a fight **(7a)** could see them.

Oh dear.

Fireballs flew. Faerie barbarians burned.

The Gods took their cue and began throwing lightning at selected targets to a Blind Io drumroll scored for thunder hammers.

The men and Elves experienced this as the beginnings of an epic thunderstorm. Though the lightning only seemed to be hitting Elves at present. It was as if it was being _aimed._

There was great consternation beneath the trees. It was not, under normal circumstances, a sensible place to be during a thunderstorm.

In the growing confusion, despite everyone from the camp being knurd, as men ran to support the guards and the wizard, Hickory Cutter worked to damp down the votive still. Nobody quite saw exactly what happened, but all were later agreed on seeing and/or hearing one event.

It blew up in his face, spreading his upper body in chunks over quite a wide area.

(1)Not to mention getting up the noses of the wizards of UU.

(2)After carefully examining his conscience first. Omnianism is _officially_ monotheistic after all.

(3)And being the boss, he wasn't happy about effectively being the Pantheon's 'clacks office.'

(4)'Nature Boy and the Camel Jockeys!' He wasn't PC. he was _annoyed_ at having to take the call.

(5)Someone to blame. Offler probably knows this, but is too smart to share it with his colleagues.

(6)'Trigger happy' and 'friendly fire' fit this. Wizards don't worship Gods. 'It only encourages them.'

(7)He hadn't yet cleared the Valhalla mead from his system. Possibly a _big_ mistake.

(7a)Most wizards are celibate, so is Dr Hix. Unslaked stroppy male hormones as a driving force ?


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter the Eleventh, in Which We Visit Not Long Ago, in a Country Far Away.**

 _The action of this chapter flashes back to around the time of the logging camp's first incursion, and begins to explain some of a character's back story. If you've been following the tale you will probably know who he is by now anyway. I am not a military man, so any mistakes about deployment, tactics etc. are mine, not those of Major Blouse. He had clearly mastered the profession of arms by the end of 'Monstrous Regiment.'_

The valley of the River Kneck was one of the most militarized on the Disc. Thanks to Vetinari, in this reality at least, it was also currently one of the most peaceful.

The intermittent Borogravian War of Succession had been settled (for now) by the Quirmian Accords **(1)** brokered by Lord Vetinari, who was keen that Ankh – Morpork should not become a belligerent in those wars again.

Prince Heinrich of Zlobenia had agreed to renounce his claim to the throne of Borogravia in favour of the issue of Contessa Annagovia, as yet unmarried great – niece of the presumed deceased Grand Duchess Annagovia. **(2)** In the meantime General Froc would remain the _de facto_ ruler of Borogravia in the name of the Grand Duchess.

Another outcome of the Accords was the Kneck Special Administrative Zone, a ten mile wide militarized area more or less centred on the treacherous and ever changing course of the River Kneck. As a disputed border region other negotiators might have favoured a _demilitarized_ zone **(3)** but Vetinari had decided to something about both countries maintaining large armies for their size, and taming the region's inherent bellicosity.

A river that changes course a lot causes a lot of flooding.

An army consists of a lot of fit and active soldiers capable of physically demanding work.

Flood relief and building flood defences is physically demanding work.

To avoid the usual squabbles investing such an area with rival armies would cause, the area was under the governance of a civil administrator appointed by Lord Rodley of Quirm. **(4)** The administrator had insisted on soldiers working as detachments of mixed units, half Borogravian, half Zlobenian. Their dialects were a close match, so understanding each other wasn't a major issue.

The odd drunken brawl _was_ an issue. Single men in barracks don't grow into plaster saints, even when at least a third of them are women. **(5)**

To avoid having a divided command they ultimately answered to engineering officers sent out from Ankh – Morpork, who answered in their turn to the administrator and his team. Their brief was to tame the river, relieve civilians affected by floods and improve local infrastructure. **(6)**

The administration made intensive use of both front line and administrative military assets. It kept both armies fully busy doing something useful and when keen minds have something to occupy their attention they are less easily distracted by other things. **(7)**

This meant Johann Blouse, now a substantive major of the Ins - and - Outs, was kept busy as an inspector of works, doing far more paperwork than you might expect of a career soldier.

He had also now been married to Emmeline for some years as the promotion had boosted his pay, improving his position to the point that their Understanding could now be fully Understood. Being a practical woman she had taken the trouble to rectify certain deficiencies in his education. He could now shave and dress himself. She found his rigorous insistence on doing a share of the laundry baffling. _Especially_ the ironing. And the _way_ he did it. **(7a)**

Even with such large numbers of soldiers present and plenty of well - fed paid work available as one of them, there were still men desperate enough (or simply stupid enough) to resort to banditry. Atrocities even.

That sort of thing could derail the Accords, so reports of such activities needed prompt investigation. By people who could deal with _situations_.

That was how Major Blouse had found himself in command of a patrol of Heavy Dragoons, tasked with looking into garbled reports of bandit activity near an old stone circle not far from his current inspection purview. The patrol could also see smoke rising from beyond a screen of trees that currently masked their view of the stones. Then their scouting party returned.

'Trooper Schmidt, report to the officer !'

Something was up. Something bad. Sergeant Zbigliev would have usually reported their findings, but looked as if he was struggling not to be sick.

'Ten men in rags, beads and feathers, sir. Weapons appear to be rudimentary. I have to report signs of them having committed an atrocity against about twenty civilians and at least two soldiers. I can't be more precise due to what looks like happened to them.'

Schmidt was coherent but she didn't seem in much better shape than the sergeant.

Blouse had encountered a similar though smaller atrocity before. This time he had a chance to bring to punishment those responsible.

The woods provided excellent cover to marshal his troops into position for a 'shock and awe' cavalry charge against the bandits. He was careful to order them to take at least one prisoner for interrogation.

Lord Rose Hip was pleased. The villagers they'd ambushed in the fields had proven easy prey once subjected to Glamour. He only wished the fun could have lasted longer. Especially with the ones who had borne iron weapons and tried to bring down even _Elves_.

He turned towards the sound of thundering hooves. So did the others. At first they brightened up at the thought of more fun and games. **(9)**

They realized with horror what was coming at them.

Glamour doesn't work against a soldier with his helmet on.

These soldiers had their helmets and armour on, knew their business and were highly motivated to deal with the situation. It was only going to end one way.

It did.

(1)Referring to the Paris Accords per the Vietnam War in the 1970s. Another unstable situation.

(2)To whom he was now assiduously paying court. He was bright enough to join the dots.

(3)Check out the halves of Korea and Cyprus to see why Vetinari wanted to go the other way.

(4)Vetinari's idea (and place man,) but he didn't want to look like he was meddling too much.

(5)See Sir Terry's _Monstrous Regiment_ for the origins of Borogravia recruiting female soldiers.

(6)Given the treacherous river, that meant building a lot of it from scratch.

(7)Such as exciting top secret plans for invading neighbouring countries.

(7a)Major Blouse now needed no batman, but didn't have the heart to stop his units assigning them.

(9)You wouldn't have wanted to play. Trust me on this.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter the Twelfth, in Which More of a Character's Back Story is Revealed.**

 _Now the reader knows who Soapy Washer really is and what he is up to. If he acquits himself well at the Battle of the Predictive Pines this is likely to stand in his favour, as his undercover mission could be viewed as espionage. Unless General Froc has kept King Verence in the loop. Neither ruler has any reason to like the Elves._

The action was brief and quite ruthless. Sabres thrust and cut. Raiders fell. There is no need to paint a picture **(1)** and at the end of it only one of them was in a fit state to answer questions without the assistance of a post – mortem communicator.

Field chains are not the sturdiest restraints on the Disc. Sometimes a defaulter must be marched many miles to court martial or an intelligence asset to debriefing. **(2)** The chains serve more than anything else to remind the prisoner he is under detention, and inhibit him from trying to seize a weapon. There were times when this relative flimsiness could be exploited as a 'dirty trick' **(3)** against an inconvenient or particularly heinous prisoner. Currently Major Blouse was taking great care to remind himself he was above such acts. **(4)** The prisoner's strange behaviour under such light restraint was helping him to maintain that standard of conduct.

Lord Rose Hip was disorientated. He was confused. Unusually for one of his kind he was afraid. He did not mourn his fallen companions though. Elvish lack of empathy saw to that. **(5)** He kept seeing one of the men he'd killed horribly peering at him from time to time. One of the two who had borne iron weapons. This wasn't helping his mental equilibrium, or being unsure if he was alive or dead.

A leaden voice spoke to him, its meaning not so much delivered to the ear as dropped directly into an already teeming mind.

'BELIEVE ME YOU ARE NOT DEAD. I AM HAVING TO RESTORE ORDER TO A MOST UNSEEMLY DISTURBANCE HERE. THERE IS A DECEASED SOLDIER ORGANISING YOUR VICTIMS INTO A POST – MORTEM LYNCH MOB AGAINST YOUR SLAIN COMPANIONS. THIS IS ALL HIGHLY IRREGULAR. IF THIS HELPS YOUR ORIENTATION ISSUES, I WILL SEE YOU LATER.'

He was not aware that he was babbling his current experiences to the world at large, much to the confusion of the soldiers who had captured him.

'Trooper Metzger, he thinks you are dead. And I believe you were, and in bits, when we found you.'

'I got better sir, it happens when you are a _yennork_ **(6)** serving in an army.'

'Can you make anything at all of his raving Metzger ? I've never encountered a bandit quite like this one. And have you seen his ears ? The Igors will want to check out this crew. Though I expect the hangman will be checking this one out first. Horrific murders on this scale have to be seen to be punished. Justice for what he and his associates did has to be public.'

'I know I have one foot in the supernatural sir...'

'I hope that is not the beginning of a rebuke, trooper.'

'No sir, just not used to being considered an expert on anything but combat **(7)** and surviving industrial accidents. As it happens I've heard of these _Alfar_ **(7a)** and would consider never meeting them again for the rest of eternity a day too soon.'

'I appreciate that 'unpleasant' understates your encounter with these men, but your contribution of intelligence could be of great value here. Please elaborate.'

'They are from another reality whose gates lie near stone circles. They come through as bandits when there are disruptions in the world's magic. A wizard would put better words to it sir, but I'll do my best. Something big must have happened. They have a lot of magic at their disposal and they use it to help them raid, with a lot of cruelty. But iron disrupts their magic. That's why you were able to cut these raiders down, your armour and weapons were a,' he paused, 'countermeasure and their own primitive weapons and lack of skill did the rest.' **(9)**

'Thank you Metzger. Igor, I know you have been writing down the raider's rantings, have you anything you can make sense of ?'

'He theemth to with he'd joined another raid on a lumber camp working on predictive pineth in the vithinity of Lancre. The magic ith a lot thronger there and would have worked in their favour. Permithion to document the prithoner iconographically, thir ?'

At this point Major Blouse made one of his now rare mistakes. He gave Trooper Igor the consent he had requested.

Lord Rose Hip was lined up with the stone circle behind him to get as much informative detail into Igor's iconograph picture as possible.

He recognized there was something that looked mechanical being pointed at him with a voice coming from inside it.

'Tell me when you want to take the shot.' **(10)**

Lord Rose Hip's consciousness focused heavily on the word 'shot.'

Panic and adrenalin did the rest.

He broke out of the field chains and legged it for the stone circle. A stand of trees became visible within it. Predictive pines.

When you are not expecting that kind of speed, getting yourself moving in heavy armour is a challenge. The soldiers didn't catch him.

The iconograph imp complained bitterly about how hard Igor made it work producing pictures of the fugitive's escape.

It has to be said that their previous elimination of the other nine raiders, the useful details in the pictures, Igor's notes and Metzger's testimony prevented too much censure for losing the prisoner when General Froc had Major Blouse on the carpet over the incident.

It did lead to his mission into Lancre in the guise of a laundryman, 'to apprehend the bandit styled Lord Rose Hip and return him for trial. If this proves impossible, to slay the bandit and return with proof of success.' **(11) (12)**

(1)I would have to use quite a lot of red...

(2)In Borogravia/Zlobenia/Uberwald neither is likely to be _fun._

(3)See Sir Terry's _Thud_ for Captain Gud's treatment of Sergeant Detritus.

(4)Johann Blouse has high minded ideals per the standards due from an Officer and a Gentleman.

(5)Magic user, feels no pain and no empathy. Among humans, a recipe for a dangerous psychopath.

(6)Monomorphic werewolf. Usually outcast from the Packs. Still hard to kill, so prized as soldiers.

(7)Mostly brawling. Yennorks and similar entities like Ludmilla Cake often have short fuses.

(7a)Ok, 'Elves' if you insist on translation...

(9)If you can englamour an opponent, you don't need much martial skill.

(10)In hindsight, the iconograph imp's words could have been better chosen.

(11)A certain war film comes to mind, but General Froc doesn't waste time on euphemisms.

(12)Trial by lawyer was a new concept to them, they were still developing the details of due process.


	13. Chapter 12a

**Chapter 12a,in Which a Prankster and a Party Animal Seek Fun.**

 _I've been at sea without internet access (that I was willing to pay for) in the last couple of weeks. Sorry for the tardiness of this latest episode. I thought it was time to check in on the Pantheon again and to report on Pastor Nutt's followers joining in. And Om is in strife again._

Hoki the Jokester had walked home from work and was having a bath. **(1)** Then he heard the unmistakable sound of Blind Io striking the beat and saw the flashes through the window. Nobody had told him there was a party going on. **(2)**

Hastily finishing his ablutions (perhaps _too_ hastily, sewer stink tends to linger after all) he set out from the small chapel he had been assigned as digs by the other Gods. If there was a fun event going on he was determined to be a part of it. Surely his return to the Divine City wasn't meant to be a never ending round of drain rods, steam hoses and unpleasant residues down drains ?

Neoldian **(3)** was proving to be a sympathetic boss and provider of technical support as the drains used to be part of his duties, but even this wasn't enough to satisfy Hoki's anarchic personality. He wanted a chance to prank somebody again. Preferably several somebodies. He would have to be more careful these days. His long banishment had taught him the desired lesson, but he'd allow his mind to freewheel as he walked towards the sound of the festivities, **(4)** something would turn up from his subconscious. **(5)**

'Hey Goat Boy, join the fun and get zapping those intruders ! Back up the lumberjacks ! Targeting's easy, the raiders look – and smell – a bit like you !'

Blind Io's manners towards minor Gods still left a lot to be desired, but Hoki had to admit He knew how to host a shooting party and was laying down some cool beats. A crowd of deities had gathered around a public square, the centre of which had become congruent with what looked like a lumber camp.

It was a lumber camp with a lot going on.

Gods and goddesses were throwing lightning at barbaric figures in beads, feathers and rags. The men of the camp were acquitting themselves well against the incursion.

When you can't englamour an opponent, the fact he is holding an iron headed axe and knows how to use it becomes very significant.

A scimitar swinging one way and its wielder simultaneously making a strange head movement towards a second opponent's midriff can seriously put to inconvenience both of the man's enemies.

Especially if he is wearing a spike – topped steel helmet.

A cavalry sabre in the hands of a man who knows how to use it is a very effective weapon **(6)** and the mass of a pressing iron being used as an improvised buckler and blunt instrument in the other hand would prove effective even against an ordinary opponent. Against an Elf all this iron distorted their sense of direction/place and made it hard to determine if a cut or quite a bit of blunt trauma were coming next.

Yarrow stalks as modified by the Elves' magic to make them large and strong enough for an Elf to fly upon, in theory provided a tactical advantage as the men of the camp were largely incapable of getting airborne. **(7)** With a lot of trees around it is important to be aware of where you are flying. When the presence of iron is disorientating you, you have a problem.

When there is a stroppy wizard shooting fireballs at you, and he can aim accurately, that compounds the problem.

The thunderstorm's lightning bolts coming from who – knows – where weren't helping the Elvish warriors' peace of mind either.

Even a warrior who can't feel pain can fear being maimed or dying.

That said, there were still more coming through. Not enough to turn the tide of the battle at this point, but the lumberjacks were tiring, the Klatchian coffee was beginning to wear off, and the psychological effect of Hickory Cutter's accident was beginning to sap men's confidence.

At this juncture Pastor Nutt decided to commit his forces.

Audible in the camp and resounding through the dimensions to be heard in the plaza at Dunmanifestin was the sound of armoured men marching, beating weapons on gauntlets and chanting some short, loud slogan.

Elves continued to arrive. It might be thought the lightning would preferentially run to disc **(7a)** through all that handy metal armour. For some reason it continued to strike Elves, often those in flight who had not met a fireball going the other way. Or who had not yet run into a well wielded mass of iron. Or flown into a tree.

The chant was hard to make out over the thunder hammer riffs, the tearing sound of lightning bolts flying through the air, the cries of men in battle, the clash of weapons and the discharges of wizardly magic.

Om had stumbled closer to the living tableau in the heart of the plaza. It still hadn't occurred to him to sober up. He was vaguely aware that two of his priests were somehow involved with the melee and wanted to take a closer look.

As he woozily made his way towards the battling figures he found he could make out what the armoured men were chanting.

'Om ! Om ! Om ! Om ! Om !'

'Some of my boys ! Tell Sweevo I think some of his are in this too ! Wait a minute, there's something odd happening around that wiza..'

At this point Om tripped over his own feet and fell headlong into the middle of the fray in the camp.

Then he took the trouble to sober up and realized he'd landed himself in the middle of some _serious_ trouble.

(1)Find out why this is so in my story 'The Strange Delivery of Mr Von Lipwig.' Plug over.

(2)Sorry, couldn't resist the song riff.

(3)Neoldian the Smith, among other identities, Janitor of the Gods.

(4)Festivity by Dunmanifestin standards, not Human ones...

(5)Somewhere even a Bonk School philosopher would not dare to tread.

(6)Roundworld 1790's French officers are said to have protested British sabres were _too_ effective.

(7)I haven't forgotten Dr Hix, but he had decided flying was too risky in this battle.

(7a)On Roundworld we'd say 'to earth.'


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter the Fou** **rteenth, in Which We Might Ask 'Will the Real Mr Cutter Please Stand Up ?**

 _It took a while for this chapter took come to me, then the Pantheon and Dr Hix and certain agents of chaos began clamouring for attention. It also seemed fair to see Hoki the Jokester exercising his pranking muscles again. And surely only a god could get away with_ that _scam..._

Om's accident had been noticed by his colleagues but by and large they weren't inclined to break off from the fun they were having. **(1)** Two of them were more concerned though, both of them through variations on enlightened self interest.

Blind Io knew Om was a survivor and likely to blame Him should nothing be done about the situation. He didn't want another broken nose. **(2)** Hoki was thinking he could make use of a certain _resemblance_ here.

Hmm, adjust the horns, need antlers, goat won't carry off the Look.

A heavier brow to shadow the eyes. **(3)**

Mustn't forget the 'meat - and – two – veg.'

I'm still a bit whiffy, that'll do...

A voice interrupted his train of thought as he completed the adjustments.

'Goat Boy, stop playing with yourself and do something about Om !'

Hoki reflected that Blind Io's manners could still do with some work but decided to let it pass. He had the makings of a king sized prank going. Right here. Right now.

'I'm on it sir !' **(4)**

It had dawned on Om that, god or not, manifesting physically in the heart of an active battle was not a good idea.

Oh Brutha, I'm not even appropriately dressed. **(5)**

As it happened, Om chose the rig that would fit into the situation better than somebody who didn't know him might expect. He was _good_ at selecting the right look for the right party after all.

Suddenly the man in evening clothes became a flannel – shirted, corduroy – trousered lumberjack.

Holding a big iron – headed felling axe.

Instincts that must have been instilled by his warlike early believers kicked in. **(6)** He began to smite befeathered unbelievers with the axe and found that he was _enjoying_ this.

Perhaps he would stop considering the brawling of Valhalla's heroes beneath him and join in the sport from time to time.

He became aware of an antlered and goat – legged man standing next to him. There was no mistaking the newcomer's masculinity. **(7)** There was a loud call.

'Elves ! Stand down !'

For now, it worked, Elves backed away from lumberjacks and armoured men, who themselves took the opportunity to take a rest and regroup.

'Does everybody here know who I am ?'

It was still working. You chose your moment, cast people's attention in the direction you knew it was likely to go and they _believed_ all of their own accord. **(7a)** That belief could be directed. Now if only he and Om could explain themselves and get away without being rumbled they would avoid losing believers to _Gnosis_. **(9)**

There were murmurs of assent. Everyone who knew about the Gentry, Lords and Ladies, _Alfar_ orwere even bold enough to say 'Elves' were familiar with the image.

Hoki and Om sensed two men who did not seem to be buying it. Their faith didn't seem to be shaken by what they were seeing though. **(10)** It seemed unlikely that these two would be lost to _Gnosticism_. One of the priests called out.

'To what do we owe the appearance of the Faerie King ?'

Good. He might not buy it, but he was willing to go along with it. A sensible priest would seek to calm things down if at all possible.

The lightning had stopped for now. The Pantheon were agog to see what would happen next.

'There is a man working with me who should not be here. I would move him to safety as there is much we need to learn from each other.'

Credible sounding reasons. And true as far as they went. Sometimes the key to misdirection is telling the truth. How you say it and revealing _just_ enough are also important. It looked like Hoki was going to get away with a _huge_ con here.

In the background something was building. Around the remains of Mr Cutter's body, shadows that couldn't quite be seen except in the corner of the eye were gathering. What then happened would have been eye watering had anyone been watching.

Hickory Cutter stood up, albeit minus a shirt.

The shadows scattered to where body parts had been distributed.

A lot of Hickory Cutters were suddenly present. Somewhat deficient in the wardrobe department.

Hoki tried to keep control of the situation.

'Impressive Doctor Hix. **(11)** What do you intend to do with your undead army ?'

John Hix had not expected this. It was evident that the discarnate spirits had possessed the scattered remains.

But only a god could imbue life.

It had to be Sweevo, and there was a humanoid lumberjack figure standing with the King's avatar. **(12)** The wizard made an assumption.

'They would be of great use should this truce not hold. I am sure Lord Sweevo knows this.'

Things were getting tense. The newly re – embodied spirits were getting themselves accustomed to freshly minted bodies. There was a certain flexing of muscles and glowering at Elves. They were neither clothed nor armed, but the tissue they had possessed had been splashed with homoeopathically enhanced coffee. Glamour would not work on them and their ire had not been assuaged. And the Elves martial skill was not great.

Then things went to pot again with a loud war cry of a sort everyone feared.

'Oor King ! Oor quin ! Oor laird ! Cloon Prince Wa Hey !' **(12a)**

The Feegles were coming. **(14)**

(1)And the _Elves_ are considered anti – social...

(2)See Sir Terry's _Small Gods_ for how this happened.

(3)None of the Pantheon can disguise their eyes.

(4)He'd be less fortunate than the hedgehog if he was going to say 'sire.'

(5)It says much of a prophet that his god thinks of him when in trouble. _Small Gods_ again for why.

(6)You do remember what I said earlier about what Omnianism used to be like ?

(7)See Sir Terry's _The Shepherd's Crown_ for why this would be so.

(7a)I did say the Klatchian coffee was wearing off.

(9)Plug time. See my story _The Clown and the Assassins._

(10)Some minds build faith by empirical study. Nutt and Oats answer this description.

(11)He was guessing, but he _knew_ the wizard was 'not a necromancer at all.'

(12)Dr Hix wasn't buying it either, but wizards don't believe in gods anyway.

(12a)For why Verence is King of the Long Lake Clan, see Sir Terry's _Carpe Jugulum._

(14)To paraphrase Captain Jack Sparrow, sorry mates, couldn't resist...


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter the Fifteenth, in Which a Royal Visit is Announced.**

 _The reader will have noticed a strongly accented announcement at the end of the previous chapter. This one leads into what was really going on when the Feegles arrived at the lumber camp._

The King and the Big Man **(1)** eyed each other carefully. They were checking each others' accoutrements and weapons for the encounter to come. Things could go very runny if they got it wrong.

'Tis a harrd thing invokin' a _geas_ **(2)** upon oor heeds to assist ye yer Majesty. **(3)** And arre ye sure aboot yon motley ? It seems strange fer a kingy to goo intae dangerr dressed so.'

Verence had his reasons. The formidable reputation of the Fools' Guild, of which he was a member, would help _impress_ people. And he could get away with _serious in motley_ because even the austere and strict Dr Whiteface would not dare gainsay a king.

'I have sound reasons Big Man. The Queen has departed for the fight. Have General Ogg and the Morris Men remained behind ?' **(4)**

'When the Hag **(5)** Quin finds oot aboot this she'll raise Hell. I wouldn't want to be ye !'

'I'll face Queen Magrat's displeasure when I come to it. Princess Esmerelda Margaret will be in safe hands, the Morris Men know what to do. And General Ogg practices martial skills with me for an hour each day. **(6)** And I am informed there are two foreign agents in my realm with whom I need to have words. **(7)** I understand that using _crawstep_ properly can bring us back to within a moment of departure.'

'That it can sirr, shall we finish checkin' each otherr oot ?'

'Good man, let's get to it !'

There isn't a great deal to inspect about the person of a Nac Mac Feegle who thinks he may encounter trouble. **(7a)** A small animal skull worn as a helmet is possible though not necessary. A shirt or jacket is pretty much unheard of. He'll want his tattoos on show. Don't forget the kilt and spog (sporran), decency must be observed. **(9)** Boots tend to be optional among Feegles though once the knowledge of their usefulness 'when administerin' a kickin'' spreads among them this may change. The ensemble will be completed with a sword as long as he is tall.

The Big Man and the Feegles of the King's 'dishonour guard' answered to minor variations on this description. An outsider who did not know them might comment on the limited amount of iron about their persons. They need not trouble themselves about that. No Elf can get inside a Feegle's hard head. **(10)**

King Verence had adapted the Fool's motley he had worn whilst in the service of Duke Felmet. He would be representing both Kingdom and Guild. An intelligent man who had experienced Elves directly, he was ready for a rematch should it occur. The cap with bells had been replaced with a mailed coif and an archer's 'pudding basin' helmet. That would keep glamour at bay and provide some protection. He had decided against a breastplate so he could move more freely and show the motley. Troublemakers expecting _Sloshi_ would find the King's painfully acquired more conventional skill an unpleasant surprise. The clown martial art was, well, _artistic_ in a painfully humorous way. The King's approach was simpler. It was a matter of stopping your opponent being a threat as quickly as possible.

To that end he bore a morningstar lately liberated from the armoury. A shield too, and a steel codpiece down the hose to preserve the Royal Succession.

'Shawn, you are in charge of the Castle while I am gone. Guard the Princess and those under our protection with all diligence. Good luck General !'

'With my life if need be, Sire, they'll not get past me again !' **(11)**

An accordion and a fiddle had struck up a tune in the courtyard. The Morris Men had organized themselves into the set required to perform the Lancre Stick and Bucket Dance that had served them so well during the confused time of the last major incursion. They wanted to be properly warmed up should trouble come calling. **(12)**

The King asked the Big Man to announce him when they arrived.

'I shall be looking to appoint one or more Heralds as diplomats. Consider this a trial run. I can't ask General Ogg to do _everything_.' **(12a)**

Ask a Feegle to do something important and he will take it seriously. It will fill him with great enthusiasm for the task ahead. It is perhaps a good idea to request that he hold back his natural boisterousness in carrying it out.

So it was that when the King and His Men arrived in the clearing, things did not go quite according to plan.

The Big Man's vigorous announcement of their arrival was taken for a battle cry and the group found themselves surrounded by violently struggling Men and Elves.

'Perhaps a more formal arrangement of words next time ?' Said King Verence, as he employed the morningstar in defence of the Royal Person and employed the 'Commander Vimes Maneuvre' to make sure his opponent stayed down. **(14)**

(1)Among the Nac Mac Feegle a Big Man is usually slightly over six inches tall.

(2)Not a bird.

(3)The Queen is a witch, Verence is clever enough to learn from her how to do this.

(4)Elves have reason to fear the Lancre Morris Men. See Sir Terry's _Lords and Ladies._

(5)The Feegle word for a witch, of any age.

(6)Queen Magrat thought the clattering was the two of them working on the Lancre Army Knife.

(7)Did that come from General Froc or the Guild ? Let's read on to find out.

(7a)What am I saying ? Feegles _are_ trouble.

(9)Though they sometimes forget themselves taking a leak. See Sir Terry's _The Wee Free Men_.

(10)And wouldn't want to come into physical contact with it either, given the Feegle fighting style.

(11)General Shawn Ogg has _issues_ about Elves. _Lords and Ladies_ again.

(12)In Lancre, Morris Dancing appears to be culturally equivalent to Roundworld _Capoeira_.

(12a)General, Postmaster, Guard, Handyman, Dunnikindiver. King Verence's _Ba Pu_.

(14)Elves feel no pain, but a groinal pressure point is a groinal pressure point and a boot is a boot...


End file.
